


kissing strangers

by MetaAllu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Lance (Voltron), College Student Shiro (Voltron), Dacryphilia, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, mcdonald's is not an acceptable place for a first date, shiro is a big flirt and a nasty boy, vine voice: i dont have enough money for chicken nuggets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaAllu/pseuds/MetaAllu
Summary: Shiro is on a horny quest to get with cute mathematics major Lance McClain. That's it. That's the plot.





	kissing strangers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [titboys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titboys/gifts).



> i can't believe nance has given me the privilege of writing this ridiculous filth.

“You should consider changing majors,” Ms. Leifsdottir, one of Garrison U’s advisors tells him frankly, setting the last of his math tests down on top of a stack, grades all ranging from 40% to 70%.

Lance tries to smile.

“I understand that the situation doesn’t look so good, Ms. Leifsdottir, but I just don’t think you’re getting that this is my dream. I’ve wanted to be a astronaut since I was a kid, so changing majors just isn’t really an option. There has to be something else I can try?”

She eyes him critically over her reading glasses before folding them and putting them back into her pocket.

“You could get a tutor,” she says at last. “But if I may be frank,” He nods. It’s not as if she’s been anything else this whole time, “I don’t think that a tutor will make enough of a difference. You’ve already got a failing grade, and there’s only the final left. You would need a near perfect score in order to pass the class.”

Lance heart sinks in his chest. This is his third and final attempt allowed to pass the class. He takes a few deep breaths, forcing himself to stay calm.

“Is there anywhere I can a tutor on the cheap?” he asks once he feels like he can talk again.

Ms. Leifsdottir gives him a slow look that would be pity if it was less stony. She flips through a few pieces of paper, then holds one out:

SHORT ON CASH? TRY STUDENT TUTORS!

When: Mondays & Thursdays, 2-5PM   
Where: Garrison Library, 3rd floor   
How: Drop-in, first come first serve.

Call ahead to find out if we have a tutor for you! (###)-###-####

*

Lance figures that the Monday will probably be less busy because people don’t will have the Mondays and won’t want to be around, but when he gets there after his 2:30 class, it’s already bustling, and one of the smiling blonde girls informs him that’s she’s like,  _ sooo  _ sorry, but there’s no math tutors left today.

He comes back on Thursday at 1:30, just as they’re setting up, but it’s busy again, people already lined up. He stares forlornly at the gaggle of students and sinks slowly into one of the plush library arm chairs, crumpling the flyer in his hand. He’s doomed. Why couldn’t be be a literature major or something instead?

Well, he figures he came all the way here, he may as well hit up the free snacks. Still feeling that terrible, weighty depression that comes with knowing his life’s dream is over, he walks over to the snack table, and after pouring himself a tiny styrofoam cup of coffee, he grabs a napkin, unfolds it, and starts dropping snacks into it: cookies, a few brownies, some candy-covered fruit.

He shoves a cinnamon roll in his mouth and immediately tears up. God, he’s so pathetic. He’s carbo loading to try and fill the void inside of himself, isn’t he?

“Are the cinnamon rolls really that bad?” someone to his left asks. He whirls, and then quickly starts wiping his face when he realizes the hottest man he’s ever seen in his life is trying to make small talk. Fuck. He’s gorgeous: tall, broad, dressed in a stupidly form-fitting turtleneck and nice dark jeans, with perfect teeth, a jaw Lance would happily die sitting on, the sickest-looking prosthetic Lance has ever seen and the doofiest tuft of white hair.

“No! No, they’re fine. They’re good,” he manages, croaking a little. Fuck. “I’m just having a really shitty week.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” the man says. “Uh, the cinnamon rolls, not your week. I made the cinnamon rolls, so I was kind of hoping for not so bad, you know?”

“Right. Yeah. Fair.”

Lance tries and fails to smile. Cute Boy hands him another napkin. He wipes his eyes, then blows his nose, clearing his throat.

“So… shitty week?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s no big,” Lance says, trying for casual. “Just, you know, my lifelong dream going down the drain because I can’t do differentials.”

“Really?” Cute Boy tilts his head cutely. “It’s just a matter of--Wait, no. I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear me talking about it when you’re having trouble.”

“Uh. I mean, if you wanted to show me how…”

“Do you have your stuff?” Cute Boy asks. Lance nods and shows him his book. “Oh. Okay, then, um…”

“Lance. McClain. Nice to meet you,” Lance says, unable to offer a hand to shake because both of them are full.

“Shiro,” Cute Boy says. “Nice to meet you, too, Lance. Okay, let’s find somewhere to sit and tackle those differentials.”

Suddenly, Lance’s week is starting to look a lot better.

*

They end up working together on Lance’s homework until well past 6, finally interrupted when Shiro--who had eaten 90% of Lance’s baked goods hall--jumps, surprised by the gurgle of his own stomach.

“Hey, come on. It’s not even dinner t--” He stares at his phone. “Okay. It’s dinner time.”

“Shit,” Lance says, eyes going wide. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure you were here for something, and I totally hogged your time.”

“It’s cool. I’m a foreign languages tutor,” Shiro says with a shrug. “I’m just glad I could actually help someone for once.”

“Still, I feel bad. Just let me get you dinner or something, okay? I at least owe you dinner. I have uh, money for chicken nuggets?”

Shiro chuckles.

“Maybe I’ll pay for my own dinner, but I’d consider your company debt paid. What do you say?”

“Sure. Cool. Great,” says Lance.

They walk off-campus together, making small talk about how cold it is for a spring evening, how the sun makes it feel earlier than it is. Shiro tells Lance about his cat, Black, and his best friends slash roommates,

Keith and Matt. He mentions off-hand they’ve been making googly eyes at each other, and Lance shrugs his brows so hard that Shiro chokes on what remains of his cold, shitty library coffee.

The walk to the closest fast food place is only 10 minutes, but by the time they duck inside, Lance is shivering, regretting his choice not to bring a jacket with him to school.

Lance orders himself a meal deal: drink, burger, fries. Shiro, meanwhile, order 40 chicken nuggets like that’s not an obscene amount of food, then, after some hemming and hawing, he also order a large fries, and then some water, as if that’s going to make any difference considering the sheer amount of garbage he’s about to put into his body.

They gather their trays and head to a table in the corner together.

“Dude, you’re gonna choke on a nugget and I’m gonna have to try and do the heimlich on your. My arms probably won’t even go all the way around.”

“It’s cool,” Shiro says. “No gag reflex.”

Lance’s brain slam dunks its way into the gutter so fast he actually sways on his feet.

“Uh. What?”

By the smirk curling Shiro’s lips upwards, he’s well aware of where Lance’s brain has gone. He sits down, and Lance follows dumbly along, sitting on the opposite side, sinking weirdly into the plush-but-somehow-lumpy booth.

“You never met a guy with no gag reflex before?” he asks, and then he’s leaning in--and god, he’s tall and he smells like library, which shouldn’t be  _ hot _ \--“I could show you.”

“Uh.”

“Dinner first, though. I’m seriously starving, and no matter how hung you are, your dick will not actually sustain me.” Shiro pulls back, opens both packets of nuggets and then shoves five into his mouth at once.

*

“Slow down,” Shiro says against Lance’s mouth. Turns out he lives really close to campus, which is  _ great _ , because Lance was about abandon his dignity and beg for Shiro’s dick in a McDonald’s bathroom.

Lance just whines in response and tries to shove him in the direction of the stairs, which is where he assumes the bedroom are.

Shiro laughs at him.

“Take your shoes off,” Shiro mumbles before pulling back to carefully take off his own, and  _ god Shiro is trying to fucking kill him  _ because he’s unlacing them and carefully arranging them on a little shoe shelf.

Lance toes his shitty, scuffed up Vans off, then launches himself at Shiro’s body, tangling his fingers in his hair, practically inhaling him as they go back to kissing.

Shiro gives up on pulling away from him, and instead just scoops him up like he weighs nothing, and turns towards the stairs.

It’s a slow trek up with several stops to make out and unbutton buttons, but it’s not until Shiro actually opens a door and they go inside that clothes start dropping to the floor.

Lance whines high in his throat when Shiro sucks a mark into his collarbone and Shiro pops off, eyes wide.

“Shit. Sorry. Was that okay?” His voice has gone deep and rasping. Lance moans and squirms in Shiro’s hold.

“Yeah,” he manages. “Yeah. Fuck yeah. Leave as many marks as you want, okay? I just need you to, like, get the rest of my clothes off right now. It’s been like 6 months since I got laid, and you’re really hot, and I’m really hard, and I just kind of need you to hold me down and fuck me ‘til I cry, deal?”

Shiro’s kinda staring at him, now, and for a moment, Lance is really worried he’s said something wrong. He’s in the middle of trying to remember what he just said when Shiro throws him.

He lands on a bed, bounces. By the time he recovers, Shiro is out of his pants, pushing his boxers off, and then his hard dick springs free. It’s all very overwhelming. Shiro’s hung, and his dick is pierced, the beginnings of a jacob’s ladder to match the barbells in his nipples. Lance’s mouth is watering. He’s going to fucking drool on this near-stranger’s sheets because he’s so unbelievably hot.

“Uh,” says Lance.

Shiro raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’re overdressed,” he says.

Lance paws frantically at his own clothing, throwing off his undershirt, wrestling out of his pants, yanking off his socks. He gets down to his briefs when Shiro slams him down onto the bed, capturing both wrists in one broad metallic hand.

“Fuck,” Lance whines and Shiro chuckles, kissing him again. The other hand goes between his legs and Lance bucks, barely resisting the urge to fucking scream.

“God,” Lance gasps. “God, Shiro, don’t. I’m gonna come if you keep touching me.”

“Huh. That’s no good,” Shiro murmurs. He kisses Lance again, and Lance breathes out a sigh of relief, thinking Shiro’s going to get supplies so they can get to the good part. Instead, he goes down Lance’s body, and then he’s sucking him down and Lance actually does scream this time, because his dick is pulsing in seconds, spilling right in Shiro’s mouth while he babbles and grabs at him uselessly.

A little bit of his sanity disappears when Shiro looks him in the eye, dick still in his mouth, and swallows.

He pulls off slowly, kisses his way back up to Lance’s mouth and kisses him, tasting so much of fucking come that Lance tears up a little. It’s disgusting and hot in equal measure, and he tells Shiro as much when he draws back.

Shiro chuckles and kisses his ear.

“Gonna fuck you,” he murmurs and Lance’s dick gives a hopeful twitch.

“I can’t,” he squeaks. “I’ll be too sensitive.”

“You can’t,” Shiro says. “Or you’ve never had someone to make you do it anyway?”

Holy shit. Lance’s brain is probably just hot soup sloshing around in his skull at this point.

“Make me,” he begs. “God, yeah. Make me take it.”

“If you tell me it’s too much?”

“Make me anyway.”

Shiro groans, and this time he is grabbing supplies, lube and a condom. “Fuck, baby, you’re perfect.”

Lance’s dick jumps against his stomach and Shiro grins, wrapping his hand around it, torturing the tip with his thumb. Lance grits his teeth and fights not to buck away. Shit.

“Fingers,” he demands. “Come  _ on _ . Want you inside.”

Shiro laughs and kisses him again while he lubes up, then he’s pressing one finger inside, then two. Lance’s nerves there aren’t as fried at least, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when Shiro seems to become fully distracted by fingering him open, probably thinking about fucking him, which is fair, cause he’s super fuckable.

“Come on,” he groans. “Hurry up. Need you.”

Shiro hums, pulls his fingers out, rolls on a condom, then slicks himself up.

The first push feels fucking impossible, Lance’s eyes widening as Shiro’s sheer girth pushes in slowly, spreads him open, shoots uncomfortable pleasure up his spine.

“Oh,” he breathes. Shiro’s holding his hips tight enough to bruise, moaning steadily into his skin as he works slowly in. It feels like a lifetime until their hips are fully pressed together. Shiro looks at him, cheeks flushed, mouth open, sweat on his forehead. Lance’s dick pulses.

He wraps his legs around Shiro, then nudges him with his heels. “ _ Move _ .”

Shiro moves.

Lance isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it’s not brutal first thrust he gets, let alone the ones that come afterwards.

“Oh, fuck!” he cries, and when Shiro grins down at him, the expression is merciless, feral in a way that shows all his teeth, almost a threat. “Shiro,” he breathes, and Shiro rumbles, low and pleased, in response. “God, Shiro, please. Fuck.” He’s getting hard again faster than he ever has in his entire life. He’s pretty sure he’s ruined. He’s never going to get it this good ever again.

“Yeah,” Shiro breathes. “Baby, you take it so well. Your hole is so eager. Shit… Shit, wanna make you come again.”

“I can’t.”

Shiro chuckles and noses at his throat. “You will.”

He wraps a hand around Lance’s dick, holding himself up on his prosthetic arm, unwavering as he works him up, up, up. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. Lance couldn’t muffle his cries if he tried to. They’re torn out of him with each brutal thrust, all of them right up against his prostate. As if Shiro could miss. He’s probably have to make an active effort, and there’s a thought,  _ fuck _ .

“Please,” he groans again between cries, tears in the corners of his eyes. “Please, it’s so much.”

“And you’re taking it so well,” Shiro answers. He sounds so pleased that all Lance wants to do is be good. He spreads his legs, and the tears start to flow, then, because Shiro adjusts his grip, starts stroking him for real. The burn-good-too-much-fuck-no-yes,-fuck-please is so much that Lance screams Shiro’s name and comes all over himself.

Shiro doesn’t stop. If possible, he picks up the pace even more, hand still around Lance’s softening dick. Lance start to sob in earnest, soothed only by Shiro’s mouth on his, kissing him so gently it’s a searing counterpoint to his vicious thrusts.

“Shiro,” he moans and Shiro groans in answer. He thrusts in so hard the last few times that Lance is pretty sure he sees God, eyes rolling back in his head, biting his lip, body curling weakly away from the pleasure as Shiro’s grunts and goes still deep inside of him, dick twitching.

There’s nothing but their breathing for several long minutes, and then Shiro collapses onto his side and says, “Shit. Fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to go so hard the first time around.”

Lance looks over at Shiro slowly, eyes wide as dinner plates. “Excuse me?”

Shiro shrugs. “Guess I’ll just have to save that for some other time. After dinner sometime, maybe? Like, not at McDonald’s.”

Lance flushes even more if that’s possible.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> come play on [twitter](https://twitter.com/fishgrayson).


End file.
